An Instrument in the Hands of Jesus

Divine Appeal Reflection - 46

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 46: "You are an instrument in My Hands. I use you because I have chosen you. Listen to me and I will guide you."

Before the Church was sent into the world, she was first taken into the Hands of Christ. At the Upper Room, Jesus did not begin with instructions but with a gesture: He took bread. This is the first movement of every vocation and every apostolic life—to be taken. Scripture prepares us for this mystery across salvation history: from Melchizedek’s offering of bread and wine (cf. Gen 14:18), to the manna that sustained Israel in weakness (cf. Ex 16), (cf. Mt 26:26)fulfilled when Jesus takes, blesses, breaks, and gives . The Catechism(cf. CCC 1362–1367) teaches that the Eucharist is not a symbol recalled, but the sacrifice of Christ made present, drawing the Church into His self-offering . Saint John Paul II wrote that the Church lives from the Eucharist, meaning that without being taken into Christ’s Hands, apostolic action becomes self-driven and fragile. Our Adorable Jesus chooses instruments gently. He does not seize; He receives those who consent. In ordinary life, this “being taken” is deeply human: waking again to responsibility, returning to prayer despite distraction, remaining faithful in obscurity. A mother, a priest, a student, a laborer—each is first taken before being used. The dignity of the instrument lies not in activity, but in belonging. To be chosen is already grace.

“I use you because I have chosen you” confronts the human heart with a consoling truth: vocation precedes clarity. Scripture confirms this pattern repeatedly. David is chosen while forgotten in the fields (cf. 1 Sam 16:11–13). Jeremiah is called before confidence is formed (cf. Jer 1:5–7). Mary is overshadowed before she knows the cost (cf. Lk 1:35). The Catechism (cf. CCC 1996, 2001)reminds us that God’s initiative always comes first; grace precedes response and sustains it . Pope Benedict XVI reflected that in the Eucharist, we do not make God present—God makes us His. This truth humanizes the apostolic path. Many feel inadequate, tired, unsure. Christ does not wait for readiness; He chooses, then forms. In daily experience, this election is lived quietly: teaching children the faith while doubting oneself, celebrating Mass faithfully amid interior dryness, choosing honesty when compromise seems easier. Saint Augustine teaches that we are not saved by our works,(cf. Rom 6:3–5) but by being united to Christ’s sacrifice . Each Communion renews this election: given for you. The chosen instrument learns rest—not because the task is light, but because the burden is shared.

“Listen to Me and I will guide you” is fulfilled most deeply in Eucharistic silence. At the altar, the Word who created the universe speaks without sound. The Catechism teaches that Christ is present both in the proclaimed Word and substantially in the Eucharistic species, forming the conscience through attentive listening (cf. CCC 1346–1377). Pope Francis—now at rest in the Lord—often warned that activism without adoration exhausts the soul and distorts mission. Scripture shows this clearly: Israel had manna daily yet hardened its heart by refusing to listen (cf. Ps 95:8–11; Heb 3:7–12). By contrast,(cf. Lk 2:19) Mary’s quiet pondering becomes the model of Eucharistic discipleship . In very human terms, listening today means resisting constant noise—pausing before reacting, praying before deciding, returning to the tabernacle when confused. For parents, listening shapes patience. For leaders, it tempers power. For the young, it grounds identity beyond approval. Jesus guided the disciples on the road to Emmaus(cf. Lk 24:27–31) by opening the Scriptures and breaking the bread . Guidance emerges not from control, but from communion. The instrument that listens remains supple in the Hands of God.

The Eucharist always ends with sending. “Go forth” reveals that what is consecrated must be given. The Catechism(cf. CCC 1397) teaches that Eucharistic communion commits us to concrete charity and responsibility for the world . Pope Paul VI warned that evangelization loses its soul when separated from sacrifice. Scripture confirms that mission flows from nourishment: Elijah is strengthened by sacred bread before facing darkness (cf. 1 Kgs 19:5–8);(cf. Mt 26:26–31) the apostles receive the Body of Christ before the way of the Cross . This sending is profoundly human and expensive in day-to-day life: going back to a challenging job, forgiving once again, tending to the ill, and staying devoted in solitude. Hours before the Blessed Sacrament maintained her work among the impoverished, according to Saint Teresa of Calcutta's testimony. Without a Eucharistic foundation, service becomes a chore. Christ guides His instruments into places where love will be stretched. The same Hands that consecrate also sustain. When fatigue comes, the Eucharist reminds the soul: you are not poured out alone.

To be an instrument in Christ’s hands is to consent, slowly and irrevocably, to a Eucharistic form of existence. It is not chosen in a moment; it is received over time, as the heart learns to yield. Pope St. John Paul II saw with a shepherd’s realism that the Church would not be saved by better plans or stronger systems, but by people who let the Eucharist change the way they lived from the inside out. He trusted souls more than structures—souls who learned to be given, as Christ is given. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1396) teaches that the Eucharist creates communion, binding us to Christ and, through Him, to one another . This is not an abstract mystery. It is lived where people are tired, misunderstood, and still faithful. Holiness is shaped there—slowly—through patience that stays, love that absorbs disappointment, and endurance that does not demand to be seen.

St. Bridget of Sweden lived this from the inside of the Church’s wounds. She did not stand at a distance pointing out what was broken. She stayed close enough to feel the pain, to let it enter her prayer and linger in her heart. She prayed while confused, spoke while afraid, and loved the Church even when that love cost her peace. What made her holy was not clarity or strength, but the refusal to harden. She allowed Christ’s love to pass through her humanity without closing herself off. This is how the Eucharist shapes a soul—not by removing suffering, but by teaching the heart how to remain open while carrying it. She interceded while misunderstood, spoke truth while trembling, and carried burdens she did not create, trusting that Christ’s truth could pass through her without hardening her love (cf. Ez 3:14; Gal 4:19). St. John Henry Newman knew the ache of being misunderstood by those he once belonged to. He chose fidelity when approval would have been easier, allowing truth to cost him reputation and security,(cf. Rom 12:2; CCC 1776) confident that conscience obedient to God leads beyond loneliness into peace . St. Peter Julian Eymard lived this mystery in hiddenness. Many days passed unnoticed, shaped only by the humble decision to return again to adoration. He did not strive to be effective;(cf. Lk 10:39; CCC 2711) he chose to be faithful, allowing the Eucharistic Presence to form him in silence . Their fruitfulness arose not from efficiency, but from availability. The same law shines in St. Joseph’s silence and St. Monica’s persevering tears. Christ still takes ordinary lives—wounded, unfinished, willing—and draws them into His pattern: taken, blessed, broken, given . The instrument is not diminished, but transformed. Like the grain of wheat,(cf. Jn 12:24) it falls and bears life . When the soul consents, life itself becomes Communion.

Prayer 

Our Adorable Jesus, hidden yet living in the Eucharist, take us again into Your Hands. Teach us to listen, to trust Your choosing, and to accept Your guidance. Shape our ordinary life into an offering, that with You we may be bread for the world. Amen.

Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.